


Goner

by Sincerelyyoursanonymous



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drugs, F/F, Medicine, Mental Hospital, Superhuman Au, lexa’s a badass, theyve all got powers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-05-14 03:54:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14762117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sincerelyyoursanonymous/pseuds/Sincerelyyoursanonymous
Summary: She couldn’t remember. She couldn’t remember anything. But she needed to remember. She had to remember what she did. Why she was there. What had happened.She needed to know her powers.And maybe, just maybe, her new roommate could help her.





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> Woo. New work. I’ve had this idea for a short while, I hope you guys enjoy.

White. 

So much white. 

The walls, the blankets, the clothes on her back, even the floor resembled what used to be white tiles before it was dirtied by repeated footsteps, tracking dirt across what used to be pristine. There was a singular line in the corner — the remnants of someone pacing along the wall. It looked as if the tiles itself began to fall apart from whomever walked back and forth. 

Where was she?

She didn’t remember. 

Her hands were cold. An ache through each and every one of her fingers; from the knuckles all the way down to the tips. It was as if she had repeatedly punched a brick wall, but there wasn’t a bruise in sight. Nor was there any sign of distress, other than the aches in her hands and the pounding in her head. 

Where was she? 

Why couldn’t she remember? 

She tried to sit up. Tried to roll over but couldn’t. Thick leather straps held her hands down, kept at her sides. Restraints. Why was she restrained? She wanted to move. _Needed_ to move. She felt like she couldn’t breathe. Like her own lungs were working against her. She wanted to scream. But every time she opened her mouth it was like cotton was shoved down her throat.

Panic attack. 

“Good morning, Miss Griffin.” 

Her eyes turned to the door. The same stark white color as the walls with a single gated window. A dark figure loomed; far enough away from the door to where the lights from inside casted a shadow among his face. The voice was masculine. He spoke again before she heard his footsteps walk away. 

“A nurse will make her rounds shortly. From there you will proceed to the dining hall. Welcome to Eloise.” 

Eloise? 

What the fuck was Eloise?

Minutes dragged on like hours. But no matter how hard she fought, she couldn’t break free of the restraints. It was pitifully annoying, how she couldn’t seem to muster the strength to break out of the damn leather. She was strong; she knew she was. She _had_ to be. You don’t become an officer by merely wielding a badge. 

She missed Miller. 

He had been her best friend at the Academy. Barely twenty four; he was her mentor. Someone to watch over her. Someone to help her when her mother wasn’t around. One of the few people she actually trusted. 

Her mother. 

What did she think? Did _she_ know where Clarke resided? Did she know of this Eloise? If it were a hospital — that’s the simplest explanation Clarke gathered — wouldn’t her mother, a _doctor_ , know of it? Was she even in California anymore? Was she even in _America_? 

She wanted to stop thinking. 

Not like there was anything more for her to do. 

A sigh left her lips. They were chapped; without a doubt aiding the cotton mouth. It felt like months since she last had something to drink. 

Soon enough, the nurse made their way into Clarke’s room. A young woman; she looked to be at least a few years older than Clarke herself. Late twenties, the blonde presumed. Her eyes looked light, but the dark circles under her eyes told her enough that this woman had been given the usual nurse treatment. Long hours, barely any sleep. She deserved better. 

“Where am I?” Clarke choked out, finally able to sit up once the restraints were off her wrists. She rubbed them, noticing the red indentations from the leather. Red and raw; she had struggled. Upon instinct she reached up to rub at her neck; aside from the usual knot that rest at the top of her spine, she found a bandage at the base of her neck, right on her pulse point. Sedation. 

Whatever she did, it was bad enough to have her sedated. 

“Eloise.” The nurse replied, setting down a pair of dark grey clothes on the bed. Much like the clothes Clarke was wearing, but darker. A t-shirt, scrub pants, a sweater. No strings, but the pants, luckily, contained pockets. Clarke admired the small victory. 

“I’ve never heard of Eloise.” 

The nurse pursed her lips; shaking her head. No answer. 

“Why am I here?” 

Another no answer. 

“What did I do?” 

The nurse sighed, standing up straight. “Please change your clothes before heading to the dining hall. There isn’t much time left for breakfast.” With that, the nurse turned, walking out of the room. The door was heavy as it closed with a loud bang. Without a doubt metal; determined to keep things out. 

Or things in. 

A chill ran through her at the thought. 

———————————

The dining hall was busy. 

Tables were arranged in rows across the room, mostly filled by individuals dressed similar to Clarke herself. There was indistinct chatter filling the room, and if Clarke didn’t know any better she’d have thought she’d traveled back in time to high school. Even in — whatever the hell Eloise was — it was clear there were cliques. Or at least people who stuck together. 

Nevertheless, she grabbed a tray and got in line. 

The food didn’t even look appetizing. But it was better than nothing. She didn’t know when the last time she ate was. Didn’t remember anything, really. If she knew the date, maybe then she’d be able to piece things together. 

Her eyes scanned the room, looking for either an empty table or a group that didn’t look like they’d mind if a random stranger made an appearance. Sighing, she absentmindedly walked, debating whether or not she should actually bother trying, or whether she should become friends with the nearest restroom for the time being. It seemed easier than the awkwardness that without a doubt surrounded her entire being. 

“Hey, you’re new, right?” A man, who looked no older than she, asked. She nodded, albeit hesitantly. “Take a seat.” 

He scooted over for her, making room. She chewed on her lip, but sat nonetheless. The table was cold against her forearms; a nice change to the burning in her wrists from the restraints. She had to fight herself to not rub them again; to not bring attention to them. 

The man was staring at her. The whole table was, actually. But she only noticed when she looked back up. 

“What?” She asked. 

“Nothing,” The man smiled, a small, warm smile. He was charismatic at best. “I’m Bellamy. This,” He pointed to the girl next to them, “Is my sister Octavia.” He pointed across from Octavia, “Lincoln, Anya, Raven,” He pointed down the line, “And the quiet one next to you is Murphy.” 

Clarke gave a subtle wave to each of them, going back to chewing on her lip. She felt off. “I’m Clarke.” 

They looked like a decent group of people. Octavia looked to be barely eighteen, her eyes still had hope in them. And Lincoln, he was more her age, maybe older. But he seemed tall, and strong. Anya had this confidence radiating from her; one that told Clarke to not get on her bad side. And Raven, she was the loudest out of all of them. She talked, and talked, and talked. 

Murphy was the quietest one out of all of them. He seemed to keep to himself. 

Clarke had a small feeling she could get to know these people. They seemed nice enough, and welcoming enough. 

“You don’t have to be afraid of us,” Bellamy had whispered to her after a moment. “We’re not like them. We’re like you.” 

She didn’t quite know what he meant. 

—————————

She met a different nurse after breakfast. This one was tall; a man who seemed to be in his thirties. And just like the previous nurse, he had a false glimmer in his eyes surrounded by sullen skin. His hair was starting to go grey. It was immediate that Clarke didn’t like him. 

“Follow me to your room, Miss Griffin.” 

A room? Wasn’t that where she was before? Wasn’t the winter wonderland themed box of solitary her room? 

Clearly, she was wrong. 

She was led down a long hallway that seemed to never end, with stark-white walls and a single dark green line down the middle of the wall. Some doors were opened, some closed. The ones that were open allowed her to glance inside; while the colors of the rooms were different, they all held the same things: 2 beds, 2 desks. She’d assume there were two dressers, if they were allowed more than what they had. 

Clarke felt like she was in prison. 

“Room 217. On your bed is your clothes for the week.” The man explained, unlocking the door to open it. “Light grey for weekdays. Dark grey for weekends. At the end of the week you are expected to leave your hamper in the hallway for your weekday clothes to be cleaned and returned. They are to be stored in the closet. Dinner is at seven, lights out at ten.” 

He was gone before she could even ask any questions. 

Based on the few pieces of paper on the opposite desk to hers, she assumed she had a roommate. Someone messy, and someone obsessed with — fire? The papers were charred on the edges. And it seemed like the desk had been recently replaced. Who was her roommate? 

She walked over to the bed to put away the clothes. She didn’t know why she was there. She didn’t _want_ to be there. But for some reason, she was. And Bellamy’s words kept ringing in her head, almost like a warning bell. She absentmindedly reaches up, rubbing the impact point of whatever sedative they gave her to knock her out. The band aid still covered it, and without thinking, she pulled it off as she walked into the bathroom. 

Her own image haunted her. 

Her eyes, once blue and full of life, now bloodshot and puffy as if she had been crying for hours. Her hair was tangled in a few places, something she was able to fix with the provided hairbrush. But what really got her was the spot the band aid was covering. 

It was bruising, and fast. She could see her veins poking out from behind porcelain skin, glowing almost a blue color. Like someone had given her a neon additive and sent it straight into her bloodstream. Something wasn’t right. She traced the veins along her collarbone, watching as they faded from the impact site down her shoulder and chest. With all her knowledge of the medical field, she had never known of any medicine — any _chemical_ — that could have caused that reaction with blood. Especially not one that didn’t kill her. 

She wanted to shower. She didn’t know what she had gotten through to get there. 

She felt dirty. 

With no sign of her roommate in sight, Clarke stripped down, ready to wash away her pain. 

—————————

Her roommate returned an hour before lights out, escorted by two male nurses on either side of her. Her arms were handcuffed behind her back, her head pulled upwards by her hair. It was rough; torturous. It looked like something straight out of a horror film. Clarke’s eyes were wide as this girl was all but thrown into their room and wrestled to the bed, her mouth forced open as a pill was shoved down her throat. She coughed and groaned, protesting as Clarke sat idle on her bed. 

What the hell was going on? 

Once the girl seemed to have given up, the man flipped her over and uncuffed her. And it was then that Clarke saw the gloves that were strapped to the girl’s hands. Why gloves? 

She looked so helpless. Despite the clear pain she was in, she looked as if she hadn’t just given up on fighting. She almost looked as if she had given up on life itself. 

“Miss Griffin.” 

Blue eyes snapped to one of the men, who was holding out two cups. One held a pill, the other some water. Clarke swallowed, but took the cups anyways. Based on how the girl on the other side of the room — now rubbing her wrists, attempting to remove the raw feeling — reacted to the pill, Clarke had a feeling that it wasn’t a good idea to take it. She didn’t recognize it. It wasn’t an antidepressant, nor was it anything Clarke had ever seen prescribed. She was hesitant. 

She hid the pill underneath her tongue. 

It seemed to satisfy the nurses, and they left. 

As Clarke’s eyes stayed glued to the closed door, her knees pulled up to her chest, she tried to process what had just happened. She was pulled from her thoughts by her roommate coughing, then standing as she walked to the bathroom. She heard her spit — at least it wasn’t vomit — then a head full of dark waves peaked out from the bathroom door. 

“You didn’t swallow the pill, did you?” She asked. Clarke shook her head. 

The girl walked over to her and held out her hand. Clarke, despite not knowing if she could trust this woman or not, complied. With Clarke’s pill in hand she returned to the bathroom, and a second later the toilet was flushing. 

“What the hell just happened?” Clarke asked, watching as the woman returned into the room. She walked over to her desk and looked at the papers, cursing under her breath as she picked them up. She retrieved a notebook from under her mattress and shoved the papers into it. 

“Hello?” Clarke tried again. 

“That’s how they treat the troublemakers.” The brunette shrugged, flipping open the notebook. She scanned through it a few times, making sure everything was there. “You’re lucky. You got here just in time to witness me coming back from treatment.” 

Clarke swallowed. Treatment? Her eyes scanned the brunette, noticing the bandages on both her inner forearms and the bruises that peaked out from above them. The way she seemed a little too thin. The way her hair seemed as if it hadn’t been washed in days. The gloves on her hands seemed to dig into the skin. They had locks on the sides. 

She scribbled something on a new page in the notebook. 

“What do you mean, ‘treatment’?” 

“You’re new here, aren’t you?” 

Clarke nodded. It seemed like everyone knew. 

“They don’t treat us kindly here. Clearly.” The girl scoffed. 

“Why?” 

“Because we’re different. That’s why you’re here. It’s only a matter of time before you’re being treated like it.” 

“Like you?”

The girl smirked. “Like I said. I’m a troublemaker. If you cooperate, take your pills, let them do treatments, you’ll be fine. Be normal.” 

“But if I don’t?” 

“Then you get to keep your powers, but it comes at a price.” 

Powers?

What powers? 

“What? Powers?” 

The brunette sighed and sat on the bed across from Clarke. She seemed confident; cocky. Her elbows rested on her knees as she pulled out a small metal paperclip from a small hole in her bed. With the paperclip, she picked the locks on her gloves, shedding them as quickly as possible. 

“Everyone has different ones. But this one is mine.” 

The girl snapped, and almost like magic two small flames lit up on the tips of her finger and thumb. 

Clarke was in awe. 

“Pyrokinesis?” The blonde asked. 

“You know your stuff, blondie.” 

“Clarke.” 

“What?” The flame went out. 

“It’s Clarke.” 

The brunette hummed. “Lexa.” 

They sat in silence for a moment. Clarke looked down at her own hands and wondered what _her_ powers were. She doubted she had the same power as Lexa; if she had, she probably would’ve been given the gloves, too. But she knew it had to be something with her hands. Her fingers still hurt. 

“How did you know what kind of power you had?” 

“I figured it out a few years ago. Once the officials found out, I was sent here.” 

“But how did you—“ 

“I got mad, and next thing you know, someone’s on fire.” 

“What’s the point of this place?” 

“To make us normal.” 

“Us?” 

“People with powers.” 

“But—“

“Don’t feed me the bullshit that you don’t have any powers, Clarke. You do. That’s why you’re here. That’s why they had to sedate you. That’s why you were locked in solitary. That’s why you’re here now.” Lexa explained, slipping the glove back on. It didn’t take a genius to know that Lexa was getting irritated. Clarke swore she started seeing smoke. 

“How do you know I was sedated?” 

Lexa sighed, standing and putting the notebook back under her mattress. “I asked a nurse. Well, attacked is the better term. Got curious as to who my roommate was.” 

“Did you threaten a nurse?” 

“It’s the only way to get an honest answer around here.” 

“And you don’t know what my powers are? Or... what even happened to get me sent here?” 

Lexa looked at her, furrowing her brow. Her eyes narrowed and she stepped closer to Clarke, pressing her fingers against the impact mark. 

“You’ve already started treatment.” 

“What?”

“That’s why you don’t remember. They’ve already started treatment on you.” Lexa sighed, running her hand over her face. “Do you want to get better?”

Clarke gave her a look. “Do you want to be normal?” 

Clarke thought about it for a moment, then shook her head. “I don’t think so.” 

“Either way, stop taking the pills. It’ll slow down the process. As for your memory...” She trailed off, rummaging through her drawer a moment. Eventually, she pulled out a small metal object. “I’m going to help you.” 

“How?” 

“We’re going to get your file.”


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The late night heist + more of the breakfast gang.

Getting the file was easier said than done, according to Lexa, but that didn’t stop the determination of the brunette. They had to wait until lights out; wait until it was certain that the guards would be minimal. And from that point they would get to work. But waiting seemed to take forever. 

“Why was I in solitary?” Clarke asked, breaking the silence. Lexa looked over her shoulder; she was scribbling something on a piece of paper. Clarke assumed it was more notes for the notebook. She wrote with vigor. 

“You attacked a nurse. Everyone heard you come in.” Lexa explained; her voice low. Clarke took it as a hint. 

It made sense why Bellamy was able to easily pick her out from a crowd. 

“What do these... treatments, do?” 

Lexa sighed, putting down her pen. She turned around in her chair, looking at Clarke. “You ask a lot of questions, you know that?” 

“Am I not allowed to?” 

Another sigh. Lexa stood now, walking over to her bunk. She pulled the notebook out and placed it on the desk. Clarke wondered what was in the notebook. 

“They’re made to suppress your powers, until you’re unable to use them entirely. The pill is what causes you to lose your memory. They believe that if you forget, and the suppressants work, then you’ll be back to normal. Unless you’re unique.” She flipped through the notebook, shaking her head. 

“What do you mean ‘unique’?” 

“If they discover that you have a different power, one they haven’t seen before or frequently, they’ll start the experiments. That way they can adapt the treatments.” 

Clarke chewed her lip as she stood, walking over to Lexa. She leaned over her shoulder, glancing at the notes. Multiple formulas in chicken scratch writing surrounded by other notes and diagrams Clarke didn’t understand. More neuroscience than bio science. 

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience.” The blonde commented. 

Lexa was stoic as she looked over the notes, and added a few more comments to her new page. 

“What’s all this?” 

“Back to the questions, are we?” Lexa smirked. “Research. Every time I notice they’ve given me a new pill, I save it. Take it apart. Do what I can to figure out what’s inside of it. See what’s changed each time.”

“How do you know all of this?” 

Lexa was silent again. She scribbled down a few more notes before Clarke gave up and left her alone. It was evident that Lexa didn’t want to talk about herself. 

Clarke’s bed was rough. Nothing like what she knew back home. Her bed back home was soft; it took up most of the space in the bedroom of her apartment. It was big, and comfortable, and provided a safe space. But this bed was the opposite. Rough corners; the feeling of the springs poking through the cotton. 

Clarke could only imagine that this was one step below prison. 

At least the walls weren’t white anymore. 

It felt like hours had passed before Lexa turned around again. Clarke had gotten so used to the sound of the pen scratching across the paper that it seemed weird without it. 

“Time to go. But we have to move quick.” Lexa whispered, motioning for Clarke to join her by the door. It was locked, but a simple juggling of the handle, twisting it a certain way and placing that metal piece just right in the slit, and the door was open. 

The hallways were even quieter at night. With the doors being so heavy Clarke couldn’t even hear people rustling in their sleep. It was just the soft patter of their own footsteps on the tiled floor mixed with the settling of Eloise. Lexa, however, went unaffected by this. She moved with quickness; darting behind the occasional walls as if she were in a spy movie. And Clarke had no choice but to follow. Really, it was impressive how Lexa could do this so easily. 

Soon, Clarke realized they were outside the warden’s office. The door was labeled with a simple “Dante Wallace” with “Warden” written underneath. Clarke knew this was a no-go zone, yet she was keeping watch as Lexa wedged the small piece of metal into the slit of the door, getting it opened with ease. 

The warden’s office was a lot different than the rest of Eloise. In place of white walls were dark colors, with a hardwood floor instead of tiles. File cabinets lined the walls while a single desk sat in the middle back of the room, drawing all attention. The back wall was basically a giant window; pulling light from the room. It made their search a lot easier. 

Lexa got to work on the filing cabinets. It wasn’t hard to tell that it was labeled alphabetically, so Lexa went right to G. Clarke, however, headed right for the desk. 

It reminded her of a principals desk, with a calendar and spot for a computer with various papers. Her eyes glanced over them, taking in words here or there. She only kept a few in mind — “Morphine”, “Sedatives”, as well as various other drugs that Clarke recognized. All labeled with “Eloise Mental Institution” at the top. 

It seemed that the people at Eloise gave the public the impression that all who resides there were insane. 

She scoffed under her breath, flipping through the rest of the papers. 

The word “steroid” caught her eye and she picked up the paper, looking at it more thoroughly. Eyes widening, she quickly went over to Lexa, the paper in hand. 

“Look at this,” The blonde began. “They’re creating a new treatment.” 

Lexa took the paper and scanned it, glancing at Clarke a moment, “Dextroamphetamine? The fuck do they need ADHD medication for?” 

“It makes people more alert and changes the brains natural chemical balance. If they can alter which _part_ of the brain it effects, and exactly _how_ it changes the chemical balance, then they can easily rewire it without ‘curing’ someone with a lobotomy.” Clarke explained, looking over the paper. 

“And you know these things how?” 

“My mom is one of the best nurses in California.” 

“Ah.” Lexa hummed, “barium hydroxide octahydrate and ammonium nitrate?” She frowned, “They’re trying to freeze something. But this doesn’t make any sense. Unless this drug combination is for me, there isn’t anyone here that requires freezing. Unless...” She looked to Clarke. 

“It’s me.” 

Lexa looked as if she were about to speak again but before she could, they heard footsteps approaching them. Lexa looked to her quickly, eyes wide. 

“If I get caught again I’m going to solitary.” She hushed out, shaking her head. And Clarke watched that hard shell start to crack. 

Thinking quickly, Clarke shoved the papers in Lexa’s arms and pushed her towards the door. 

“What are you _doing_ Clarke?” 

Clarke shook her head and started running in the other direction, hoping she was running right to the guards. 

————————

Her hands were shaking as she sat in front of the head of staff. She had made the decision on a quick judgement — she was new. It was her first day and she didn’t know anything. The punishment couldn’t be _that_ harsh, right? Her knee was shaking — a sign of her nerves. She hadn’t even met the man and there was this underlying awful taste in her mouth. Just the thought of someone associated with _experimentations_ and _purposeful amnesia_ made her blood run cold. 

“Clarke Griffin.” 

She jumped, not expecting the sudden voice. 

The man entered the room, tsking his teeth as he looked over what she assumed was her file. The same file that got her into this position in the first place. 

“You were admitted into the main building today after being sedated for three.” He looked at her as he set down the file, sitting across from her. The twisted grin on his face made her skin crawl. She didn’t like this guy. 

“I was.” 

“Care to explain why you were in the halls after lights out?”

“I wanted to go for a walk.” 

“How did you get out of your room?” 

Clarke narrowed her eyes at him. “The door was left unlocked.” 

He looked down at the file again, “Your roommate is Lexa Woods.” 

“Who?” 

The man let out a scoff — “Don’t play dumb with me.” 

“Enough, Cage.” 

Blue eyes shot up to look at a man standing in the doorway. He was older; his hair grey with white patches. He had kind eyes, but Clarke knew better than to trust him. 

“Dad —“ 

“Enough.”

With a huff, the younger man — Cage — rose from his seat and walked out of the room. The older man took his place. 

“Hello, Clarke. I’m afraid we haven’t been properly introduced. My name is Dante.” 

So this was the warden. 

“You said you were taking a walk?” He continued. 

Clarke nodded. 

“You should know that after lights out all patients must remain in their rooms.” Another nod, “I’m going to let you go because it is still your first official day. Don’t make me see you here again.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

She wanted to check her file. She wanted to see the reason why she was there. The information was right there; right in front of her and she couldn’t do anything about it because Dante Wallace had his hand on it. She had an itch she needed to scratch; knowing that there was something hidden inside her that had yet to come out because she didn’t know how. It bothered her. 

“These nurses will escort you back to your room.” 

Clarke tried not to glare at him on her way back. 

—————————

Lexa was asleep when Clarke returned. 

Or at least, that’s how she appeared until the lock clicked behind her. 

“What the hell were you thinking?” Lexa asked, her voice barely above a whisper as she threw off her covers, the papers in hand. “All that for a stupid paper? What am I supposed to do with this, Clarke?” 

“Cage Wallace said I’ve been in here for four days.” Clarke replied. “Check the date on that.” 

Lexa huffed, looking at the paper.

“And what does it say?” 

“Four days ago.” 

“Exactly. It’s my treatment. So whatever _that_ is meant to combat,” Clarke explained, pointing to the paper, “Is my power. No more late night warden trips where I have to save your ass.” 

“You didn’t have to do that.” 

“I wasn’t about to make anyone else sit in that white room.” 

Lexa sighed, running a hand through her hair. She had taken the gloves off at some point. 

“What do you want me to do with this paper?” The brunette asked. 

“Cross reference.” Clarke explained, “You have at least one notebook full of notes regarding the pills, treatments, everything. Take what you know and run with it.”

“Twelve.” 

“What?” 

“I have twelve notebooks. They’re hidden behind a loose board in the closet.” 

Clarke smiled at her, “Then I guess we should get to work.” 

——————————

Sleep didn’t come easy that night. She and Lexa had been up until at least four going over the original treatment file and the copycat Clarke had written up, but they hadn’t come up with anything. Lexa had years of research built up, and everything was coming up blank. It made Clarke wonder just how long Lexa had been there. 

By the time Clarke actually laid down to sleep, it felt like she was only asleep for a half hour before they were being woken up for breakfast. Clarke felt sluggish; the lack of sleep evident in the bags under her eyes. She was used to long nights; back home she would study well into the very early hours, but here felt different. It felt like it sucked the life out of you. 

Clarke chose to sit with Bellamy again. And to her surprise, Lexa joined them, sitting on the other side of Lincoln. She was met with warm smiles all around. 

“Where were you yesterday, Woods?” Bellamy asked, shoving half a hash brown in his mouth. They tasted like cardboard; similar to the food from the day before. 

“Treatment.” Lexa gruffed out, pushing the food around on her tray. She didn’t look too interested in eating. 

“Again? That’s the second time this week.” Raven commented. 

“It’s kind of hard to get a patient to cooperate if they don’t take the magic pills.” Anya mumbled, earning an elbow from Raven. Anya glared at her, but shut her mouth. 

“Wait... none of you take them?” Clarke asked, looking around the table. She earned a few shakes of the head, all saying the same message. None of the occupants at this table took the pills that would dampen their memory. Which means they all remembered their powers. 

She looked to Lexa; a silent question in her eyes. She wanted to know if she could trust them. 

Lexa nodded her head. 

“I take it Lexa let you in on it?” Bellamy asked. 

“Yeah... she made quite the entrance.” 

“Did she kick a nurse this time?” Octavia chimed in. 

“No. Almost, though. I’m sure if he didn’t sit on her she would’ve.” 

“I’m surprised she didn’t headbutt him. She gave a nurse a bloody nose last year.” Lincoln commented. 

————————————

Rec time was something new for Clarke. There were various rooms for the patients to use, but Clarke found herself wandering out onto the courtyard. The fresh air was a nice change; she found a place to sit under a rather high-foliage tree. Based on the color of the leaves and the chill in the air, Clarke assumed it was at least mid-September; not long from what she last remembered. She absentmindedly rubbed at her wrists as she looked up at the clouds, watching them drift by in their cotton-like shapes. 

Her mind wandered back to her powers. What would they need to stop by freezing? She didn’t think she was pyrokinetic. And if she was; wouldn’t Lexa have recognized the combination for the treatment? Could she control something specific or was she just some odd form of superhuman? She made a mental note to try and concentrate on it later that night. Maybe she could make some sort of progress. 

Sighing, she leaned against the tree and closed her eyes. 

It was peaceful. She could forget about the high fences around them if just for a little bit. 

“Mind if I sit?” 

Clarke looked over, seeing Bellamy standing there with a soft smile. When she nodded he took a seat, crossing his legs as his hands immediately went to the grass, pulling it up and ripping it apart. It was a nervous habit that reminded Clarke of someone she once knew. It was calming. 

“Do you know your power?” Bellamy asked after a moment. 

Clarke shook her head, “No,” she paused. “Do you?” 

Bellamy smirked and glanced behind him for any guards before he held up his hand. His thumb and index fingers were raised and, in an almost instant, a line of lightning sparked between them. It was small, just enough for Clarke to see. But it was astounding nonetheless. 

“Does everyone here have some form of -kensis?” Clarke asked, a teasing tone to her voice. 

Bellamy shrugged, “Most people don’t remember. Lexa is pyro, I’m electro, Octavia is aerokinesis — she can control the weather — Raven is technokinesis — she controls technology, it’s really cool. Lincoln can control nature. Anya has psychometry — she can learn everything about anyone or anything by touching it.” 

“What about Murphy?”

Bellamy smirked. “He has power mimicry.” 

“Wow.” 

“I know.” 

A voice from across the courtyard caught their attention. They both looked and stared a moment, before returning to reality. 

“How common are the... experimental abilities?” Clarke asked. 

Bellamy thought a moment, “Not common. That’s why...” He sighed, “That’s why our group sticks together. When Lexa got the information out of the nurse that you were already in solitary, she had a feeling. And based on what she told me about that file you found last night, her feeling was right.” 

“She told you?” 

“I ran into her in the hallway.” 

Clarke nodded, bringing her knees to her chest. “Why don’t you guys take the pills? Aside from wanting to keep your memory.” 

“We want to be able to get out of here, eventually. Once we have enough information. And in order to keep that information, we need to keep our memory.” 

It was a lot to think about. How this group of people were planning to break out of a facility designed to keep them inside; designed to make them “normal”. It shook her to the core that anyone would want to experiment on them; that they were deemed inhuman when in reality they were actually superhuman. It made a lot more sense why Lexa was taking so many notes; if by chance one day they ended up forcing her to take a pill — to fully take one — she may lose all that information. And it was too risky. 

“I have one more question.” 

“Shoot.” 

Clarke blushed, looking down at her hands. “What day is it?” 

Bellamy grinned, “September 25th.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think !!!


	3. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lot of Clarke’s backstory. A new character comes to light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, okay. I’m so sorry that it’s taken me all summer to update this thing. I fell into a slump back in May after some family stuff went down, and it just kinda really got to me this summer. I didn’t really want to write at all. That being said, I have been working on this when little snippets of inspiration came to me. And it’s a little longer than normal. So I hope you guys enjoy.

**June 2016.**

She pulled her hair back into a loose pony at the back of her head to keep her hair out of her face and off her neck. The humidity from the summer sun worn down on her, causing a line of sweat to form at her hairline. It was early; much earlier than she would usually wake, but the nerves settling in the pit of her stomach prevented her from sleeping. A first day at a new, hopefully-steady job would do that to someone. 

She glanced herself over in the mirror. Her uniform, pristine as ever, reflected back in the navy blue she so desperately wanted to wear for years prior. Her name tag, proudly displaying “Griffin” back at her in the mirror sat perfectly on her chest. It was a sign of all her hard work; of countless, restless nights and months of training. All the time put into studying, into getting herself physically prepared left her without a social life, but it was well worth it. 

Her phone chimed from its place on the charger in the other room. 

**_Miller;_** _5:21 am: on my way. stopped 4 coffee._

Maybe it was a good thing she was up so early. 

The drive to the station was silent, save for the gentle humming along to the radio that came from Miller under his breath. The windows were cracked to let that “fresh” summer, LA air seep through in what was a sorry attempt of the breeze. It was their only solace against the growing heat given that Miller’s air conditioning had broken. His beat up truck was good for many things, but Los Angeles heat wasn’t one of them. 

The station, however, was thankfully cool. It was quiet for a Saturday morning; the secretary giving the two of them a gentle nod as they bypassed the front desk into the rows of desks in the back, right up to the office of their new boss: Thelonious Jaha. He had been a friend of Clarke’s father; they knew each other in high school. And now, knowing that he was the man that would be in charge of everything she did, well, Clarke wasn’t sure how to feel about it. 

“Good morning, Officers.” Thelonious smiled; the title enunciated in a way that had Clarke beaming. “Welcome to LAPD.”

He gave them the run down of what they’d be doing. Since it was their first day on the job, it was simple work. Patrolling the area; more than likely just handing out traffic tickets. And while it wasn’t much, Clarke knew it was just one more step in the right direction. 

“I’m stopping for another coffee,” Miller announced as they pulled out of the parking lot. “Want any?” 

“God yes. Please.” While they had already finished their first cup an hour prior, Clarke hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep. She had spent a good portion of the night tossing and turning in _hopes_ of being able to sleep, but to no avail. 

They stopped at the nearest Starbucks. Clarke opted to stay in the car instead, just in case anything came up. Her fingers tapped impatiently against the side of the vehicle; the windows all the way down. Luckily, the dispatch vehicles had AC, but Clarke wasn’t about to waste gas for the sake of a few minutes of cold solace. Her eyes drifted across the passerby’s, watching as college students and business suit-clad men and women trickled in and out of the shop, all in a hurry. Never taking the chance to look at the world around them. They were all glued to their phones or lost in conversation with those with them. It was a little sad. 

_”All units, we have a Code 3 10-71 in South Hollywood with multiple 10-54.”_ The radio went off, startling Clarke at first. She knew they were close to South Hollywood. They weren’t that far out. 

A shooting. Possible dead bodies. Use lights. What a way to start a first day. 

Weighing her decisions, she made a snap choice to pick up the radio before her better knowledge got ahead of her — “This is unit 15A; 10-4. Officers Griffin and Miller on our way.” Clarke spoke into the radio just as Miller came back to the car, mouth gaping open. 

“What are you doing?” 

_”10-4 unit 15A. Proceed with caution.”_

“10-4.” 

“Clarke what the hell?” 

“It’s a shooting. South Hollywood. Possible murder. Let’s go!” 

“You can’t just _do_ that Clarke — we’re just patrol officers —“ 

“If you don’t drive us, I will.” Clarke demanded, already getting ready to get out of the car. 

Miller sighed, shook his head, flipped the siren on and drove off. It was going to be a long day. 

—————————

“I can’t believe you talked me into this. We’re going to be fired on the first day.” Miller mumbled, stopping the car at a quick halt. First responders were already there, and while Miller did the more logical thing of joining the first responders and handling civilians attempting to get a closer look, Clarke headed right into the action with her hand on her gun. Miller tried to call out to her, but Clarke was already too far in. 

The man looked to be in his thirties; tall, with hair that started to grey. There were three other officers inching him into a wall, but none of them were able to approach further. He held a little girl to his body — a gun pressed against her temple. 

“Come any closer and I’ll shoot!” He called, scanning the crowd. 

Clarke huffed, looking for an opening. She couldn’t make any sudden moves or she risked the girl being shot. She was far back enough from the scene to where the man hadn’t noticed her — she might have a way in from behind him if they kept him distracted. 

“Jordan — keep him distracted.” Clarke whispered over her walkie, calling to Jasper. She saw the man nod and he began talking again. 

At least Jasper had some blind faith in her. 

The man started inching the girl to the alleyway to the left — he was going to make a break for it. Clarke had to be quick if she wanted any chance. 

So she ran. She ran around the block, her gun out of its holster and into her hands as she creeped down the alley. It was reckless; she was alone. If the man turned and saw her she was dead in an instant. Either her or that little girl. And that was something she most _definitely_ couldn’t allow to happen. 

She got closer. So did the man. 

She raised her gun and aimed for his head. It was a last resort. She could see Jasper over the man’s shoulder. She nodded at him; he nodded in return. 

“Now, Clarke!”

Clarke jumped into action, pushing herself in between the little girl and the man. She felt the bullet enter her shoulder but didn’t feel it come out. It would be a bitch to remove. 

The pain wasn’t her priority. With a few swift movements she had the gun falling to the ground with a clatter and the man on his stomach, hands behind his back. 

“Clarke!” She heard, turning to look at Miller running towards her. “What the hell?!”

Clarke looked at him, panting. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the little girl safely in the arms of Harper. She was leading the girl to the ambulance. Others were being wheeled away with bags over their bodies. 

“Clarke?” Miller tried again, but Clarke just gave him a tired smile. 

“I did it.” 

Miller shook his head, but Clarke could see the smallest hint of a smile on his face. “You’re a fucking idiot.” He breathed, guiding her to the ambulance. “Take her in. I’ll follow behind.” 

Luckily, in the end of it all, neither of them were fired. They were suspended for a few weeks, which gave Clarke time to heal. But her idiotic sense of bravery actually worked in their favor as they were promoted only a few months later. 

—————————

_**Present.** _

Getting shot in the shoulder was a lot less painful than whatever the hell Clarke was feeling in that moment. It was pain — that was without a doubt. And it was everywhere — literally coursing through her veins. 

She learned really quick that treatments weren’t fun whatsoever. Forcibly woken up before the others only to be dragged to the basement level three. The nurses she had were rough; gripping her arms so tight she swore they’d leave bruises. Clarke had no choice but to comply. 

She was back in a white room. But this one wasn’t as bad as the other — this one had hints of grey thanks to the metallic silver fading. Before she could really take in the room she was thrown to the bed, restraints on all of her limbs. 

She hated being restricted. 

It was quiet. Too quiet, in fact. Clarke could hear her own blood rushing through her veins. It was enough to drive anyone insane. No wonder they masked the place as a mental institution. 

“Good. You’re not a screamer.” The sudden voice startled the blonde. She didn’t recognize it; but she _did_ hear the snapping of a rubber glove that followed. If she could turn her head she’d glare at the man, but restraints kept her in place. 

“What are you doing to me?” Clarke rasped out. 

“That is for me to know only.” The man hovered over her and she could truly take in his features — scraggly beard that resembled more of stubble than a beard, with eyes that seemed to sink into his skull. A devilish grin taking over his lips. 

Before Clarke could even process exactly what was happening the man had a hand on her jaw, forcing it open with a tight grip. A pill — Clarke could only see the color; dark blue — was placed on her tongue. And she fought it; she fought it hard — but then the man’s other hand was on her throat. The breath in her lungs escaped all at once and as soon as the grip was released she gasped, sending the pill right down her throat. 

She had failed. 

She had no choice but to take the pill. 

“Time to sleep, sunshine.” 

And without a fight left in her body, Clarke felt the prick of the needle at the base of her neck. And sleep took over her as quickly as she had woken up in that room. 

—————————

Her body was heavy. Her eyes tired despite her sleeping the entirety of her treatment. Whatever it was they were doing to her, they _really_ didn’t want her finding out. She was exhausted. Her muscles hurt; an internal pain that came from her veins outward. And she just wanted to sleep. 

The nurses who escorted her back to her room were a lot nicer than the ones who had escorted Lexa a week ago. But Clarke assumed it was because she wasn’t fighting. She didn’t feel like fighting. Not in that moment, at least. They held an iron grip on either of her arms, pressing on the bruises left behind from other nurses, but they weren’t shoving. Weren’t forcing her to walk. If anything, they were pulling her. 

She never thought she’d love the sight of her own bed in this hellish facility more. It was lunch time, but Clarke wasn’t hungry. She didn’t have it in her to be hungry. She was just _tired_. She collapsed on her bed and one nurse offered her the two cups again. Clarke saw the color of the pill in the cup — dark blue, again — before she let it into her mouth, slipping it under her tongue again. 

The nurses left. 

Clarke removed the pill and placed it on Lexa’s desk under a crumpled piece of paper. 

Sleep came easy for her that afternoon. 

———————

Clarke woke again hours later to the sound of the big metal door shutting. Her ears were awake, but her eyes refused to open. She heard shuffling around her room, a curse under the breath of who was there — Lexa. 

“Jesus, Clarke... what did they do to you?” She whispered. Her voice was close. And then she felt Lexa’s hand on her cheek. It relaxed her, in some odd way — Clarke blamed in on the fact that everyone else had treated her so roughly, but Lexa’s touch was gentle. Soft; kind. 

Her eyes slowly opened. 

“Good, you’re awake.” Lexa cleared her throat, pulling her hand back. “I wanted to talk to you about how your treatment went...” 

Lexa trailed off as Clarke sat up, removing the annoying band aid from her neck. Green eyes widened in surprise — Clarke felt panic rise in her chest. 

“What?” 

“Clarke, your veins —“ 

Clarke was up and running to the bathroom before Lexa could even finish her sentence. The reflection she saw was, for lack of better words — horrible. Her jaw was bruised, her _neck_ was bruised and there was an indentation along the top of her head where the restraints had dug into her skin. It had only been perhaps an hour or so after Clarke returned — those made sense. But as her eyes trailed along her own skin she found the point of impact from the sedation, and how her veins glowed blue, strong at the point and fading little by little the farther they got away from where she had received the sedation. 

It was clear they weren’t just sedating her. 

“Clarke?” Lexa asked. 

Clarke let out a breath and turned to Lexa, chewing her lip. “There’s a pill — on your desk. It’s the same one they gave me before I started treatment.” Clarke was just glad she could remember what happened before treatment. “I’m pretty sure, at least. It’s dark blue; a different color than what they’ve been giving me. I think you’ll want to look at it.” The blonde turned back to the sink, running the water to splash in her face. She needed to shower. Needed to get the feeling of that damn nurse off her. 

Lexa nodded, turning to leave, but stopped in her place. “Blondie?” 

Clarke glanced at Lexa, “What?” 

“Bellamy got a new roommate. I think he might be able to help you.” 

Clarke hummed, storing that information in the back of her mind. 

————————

When Rec time rolled around that day, she had every intention of going over to her tree and just relaxing the few hours away. But when she got there, right where she sat, a note was in her place. Curiously, she opened it, revealing the same scribbled handwriting that she had come to know as Lexa’s. 

_Room 114._

It was all she had to go by, but she knew that she had to go there. Lexa wanted her to go — it had to be important, right? She glanced around, making sure no one else saw her. The wind picked up, almost blowing away the note in her hand but she caught it in time, shoving it in the pocket of her sweatpants. She made her way back inside slowly, bypassing nurses that didn’t even give her or her glowing veins ( she had checked — they were still glowing even after her shower ) a second glance. 

Room 114 was on the first floor — the Rec floor for patients. It was still open, but in the back portion of the facility. Past the cafeteria and across from the music room — the room Clarke didn’t even know existed. It seemed that any musicians in this place didn’t even want to play anymore. Clarke couldn’t blame them. She didn’t even want to paint anymore. Her body hurt too much lately to even think about picking up a paintbrush. The walls of this hallway were a dark grey; a contrast to everything else Clarke had known of this facility. So why was Lexa sending her there? 

She pushed open the door and stepped inside. 

It was a game room. Clarke could tell that much by the shelves of board games littering the walls next to the windows that let in as much sunlight as they could. The walls an off white; the floor the same concrete that lined the rest of the facility. In the middle sat a round table with the people she had come to know as her friends around it, each with a small pile of cards in their hands. A new person — Clarke assumed to be Bellamy’s roommate — sat next to Bellamy, and idle chatter filled the room. 

This man intrigued Clarke. He seemed distant; closed off from the rest of the group. Almost as if he was anxious about something. His fingers not holding the cards tapped against the table; his straight black hair falling into his eyes. He wasn’t as social as the rest of the group. 

She took a seat between Lexa and Lincoln. 

“How nice of you to finally join us, Griff.” Raven chimed, setting down her cards. “Lexa told us you had treatment today.” 

A pale hand went over the mark on her neck; it was cold. A chill seemed to radiate off the veins in her skin — they had succeeded in freezing whatever it was they wanted to. 

“Yeah. It was...” 

“Looks like they did you something bad.” 

Clarke nodded; lips pressed into a line. She didn’t want to talk about her treatment. 

Bellamy cleared his throat, breaking the tension. And Clarke was grateful for it. 

“This is Monty. He’s my new roommate.” 

Monty offered her a gentle wave. 

“His... power is something unique. He’s like the rest of us here. But we think his power might be able to help you find yours.” 

Clarke raised an eyebrow, “What’s his power?” 

“He has mind control. But, he can also delve into memories, even those forgotten.” Bellamy explained, glancing at Monty with a smile and a pat on the back. 

“Really?”

Monty nodded. “They... already put me through sedation, and tried to make me forget, but I guess my mind is too powerful for them to take control.” 

“I told him about your situation, and he offered to help.” Bellamy continued. 

Clarke thought about it a moment. It was the beginning of October; the most Clarke really remembered was the beginning of September. The last things she truly does remember is having dinner with her mother on the boardwalk after a long shift with Miller. They had tried to make plans like that once a week. And Clarke didn’t even know if her mother knew she was gone. 

She didn’t even know if Miller would remember her. 

“Have you dipped into someone else’s memories before?” 

Monty nodded; “Yes. I... was in hiding, for a while. I’ve known about my powers for a while. It was just pure coincidence that I was caught. Actually —“ 

“Look, we can go into backstories another time. But we don’t have time for this. If the nurses catch you doing this, we’ll all be sent to solitary. So let’s get this mind voodoo train on the tracks, yeah?” Murphy commented, causing Monty to slink into himself. 

“It’ll take a moment, but we can do it, yeah. Uh,” He paused, licking his lips. “Come over here, Clarke.” 

Clarke stood, taking Bellamy’s place next to Monty. She could tell the man was nervous, even though he said he’d done this multiple times before. Clarke couldn’t help but wonder if something happened to cause this change in confidence. 

“It works better if I touch you. Is that okay?” He asked. Clarke nodded, and soon Monty’s hand was being placed on Clarke’s shoulder. 

She closed her eyes, took a breath, and suddenly, everything came rushing back. 

—————————

_**September 3rd, 2018.** _

The waves crashing along the sand seemed to be the only thing going right in her life in that moment. She was on leave on her job _again_ ; a result of a stupid prank done by a teenager; it just so happened to go off into Clarke’s desk. Minor head trauma, her mother had said. Clarke thought it was bullshit. It was fine. 

On top of that, it had been a week since she had moved out of her apartment shared with her long-term boyfriend, Finn. 

She had walked in on him cheating with the girl next door. It was the same day she was sent home early due to the firework incident. She had walked in, saw him in a position that he couldn’t lie his way out of and immediately started packing her things. She had been staying with Miller for the time being. He and his boyfriend didn’t mind letting her crash on the couch, anyways. 

She had gone for a walk; needing to clear her head. And somehow, she ended up on the beach. The boardwalk wasn’t far off; she could hear the drifting voices coming from people having a great time. It was a little chilly in the air, but not enough to bite through Clarke’s sweatshirt. For the first time in a week, she felt calm. 

At least, up until she heard someone stumbling towards her, slurring their words and calling her name. 

A sigh left her lips. “Go away, Finn.” 

“I want to talk to you.” He huffed, walking closer to her. Clarke stood, facing him. 

“I don’t want to talk to you. Go home, Finn. Leave me alone.” 

He had a bottle of alcohol in his hands. Clarke frowned as he took another drink. “Come on, Clarke. It was just a misunderstanding.” He stumbled. It didn’t take a genius to know he was way over the legal alcohol limit. 

“Really? You fucking our neighbor was just a misunderstanding?” 

“I slipped. She was coming onto me — you know I’m irresistible. Come on, I’ll walk you home.” 

He put his hands on her. And Clarke was pissed. 

“Don’t you fucking touch me.” She snapped, shoving him back. 

“Clarke—“ 

“No!” 

Another shove. He was up to his knees in the water now; she kept shoving. 

He fell into the water. 

And suddenly, the water seemed to be keeping him there. Holding his limbs under despite his struggle. It was reaching for his head but he fought back. And it just made Clarke more mad. Because it seemed like no matter what she did — no matter _how hard_ she tried he just kept struggling. 

So she tried harder. 

And she opened her palm, and thought about the blood rushing through his veins. Thought about his beating heart. 

And she thought about his heart stopping as she closed her palm. 

It was moments after squeezing her palm shut that his struggle had stopped. 

—————

_**Present.** _

The wave of pain that came with the realization of what she did was overwhelming. She wanted to scream; wanted to lash out on everyone near her. She shoved her shoulder, removing Monty’s hand from her as she pushed away from the table. She couldn’t be there. Not with everyone staring at her. 

She wanted to run. To run until her lungs wanted to collapse from overexertion; until her legs burned. 

But it wasn’t like she could do that here. 

She was trapped. 

So she went back to the courtyard; right against her tree. And she let the breeze flow through her hair; allowing it to attempt to calm her down. But it didn’t stop her hands from shaking. 

She had killed him. A month ago, she had killed the man who she loved for months — almost a year. Over him _cheating_. How could she had gotten so mad? It wasn’t like her. It wasn’t like her at all. She had compared this place to a prison of white walls — maybe she was right. Maybe she deserved to be in prison. 

“Clarke?” 

The blonde looked up, frowning when she saw Lexa standing there. 

“Leave me alone, please.” 

Her voice was quiet. Broken. 

Lexa sighed and moved to sit next to Clarke, offering her hand. Clarke denied it. 

“I know whatever memories Monty pulled up were... brutal. And I’m not going to make you talk about it, but...” 

Lexa looked at her. Clarke frowned. 

“I’m here for whenever you want to.” 

And maybe, one day, Clarke could trust her enough to tell her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, let me know what you think!


End file.
